


with the laughter and the snow

by ShitabuKenjirou



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Christmas Eve, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, the christmas drabble you've all been waiting for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-09-28 06:49:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17177960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShitabuKenjirou/pseuds/ShitabuKenjirou
Summary: after dating for a few years and living together for several months, shirabu figured it was only a reasonable desire of yahaba to celebrate christmas together, despite not being particularly fond of the holiday. however, the exchange of presents brings more chaos and surprises than either of them had anticipated.





	with the laughter and the snow

**Author's Note:**

> turns out i'm not dead! wild huh
> 
> i know this account is dusty as fuck but i've risen from the void to bring you one (1) severely self-indulgent and badly edited nonsensical drabble for my boys. just so i can be unfashionably late at the christmas party and post at least one new thing until 2019 starts because hoo boy has this been a terribly unproductive year when it comes to writing. 
> 
> i hope you enjoy this disaster and thank you for acknowledging my existence, kudos to you

Shirabu broke through his slumber to find complete and utter silence. 

Part of him felt relieved to not wake up to his alarm clock for once, to not have to drag himself out of bed while Yahaba was already prancing around in the kitchen, breakfast just minutes away from being served while the radio blasted too-cheerful Christmas songs. And yet part of him also noticed how their spacious apartment felt too quiet without it, how he missed the smile on Yahaba face as he sang along with whatever annoying Christmas tune was playing, his voice echoing off the walls and floating through the gap underneath the bedroom door. 

Shirabu blinked, dragging a hand down his face and squinting at the light breaking through the window, sliding past the curtains that Yahaba had forgotten to close. Thick wads of snow were tumbling down against a dull grey sky, birds piercing the wall of flurries as though it was nothing. 

Fitting, Shirabu supposed, for today's Christmas Eve. Though it would make his short trip to work and his last few errands just a tad bit more unpleasant. 

Yahaba was silent beside him, buried beneath the covers and his pillows, and he longed to drag this silence and tranquility out for as long as he could. He longed to lean over and kiss him awake, to put this day a few gears back and move slowly through life, so he’d have the time to appreciate everything he’d come to gain, everything he’d come to love, without the rush of having somewhere to be. 

But since Yahaba had a serious, elaborate Christmas celebration planned for today, he didn’t have much time to lose.

Just as he decided to get up to make himself his first of many cups of coffee, he felt Yahaba shift beside him, covering Shirabu's hand with his own in a sleepy gesture. Then Yahaba pushed himself up, a floofy head of silver-brown hair rising from the mountain of pillows surrounding him, and leaned on his elbow while his free hand traveled up Shirabu's arm. Yahaba blinked, and peered down at him softly, the corners of his mouth turning up, as if still in the process of shaking off a pleasant dream.

Like it did more often, Shirabu's smile faltered when Yahaba opened his mouth. 

“ _ I don't want a lot for Christmas _ ,” he sang lowly, with a voice that crackled like embers from lingering sleep. His gaze, while still muddled, pierced him. “ _ There is just one thing I need _ .”

Shirabu's mouth was stuck between a grimace and a suppressed smile as he looked up at Yahaba. Yahaba's eyes just twinkled in response. He pushed down the urge to start laughing.

“ _ I don't care about the presents underneath the Christmas tree _ .”

Yahaba leaned down, moving closer to Shirabu as he lowered his head and brushed his lips against the shell of Shirabu's ear. Shirabu’s eyelids lowered, and he pinned his gaze to the snow outside the window. He refused to acknowledge the growing heat in his chest.

“ _ I just want you for my own _ ,” he whisper-sang, and pressed a kiss against Shirabu's cheek. His breath stuttered. “ _ More than you could ever know. Make my wish come true… _ ”

The ghost of a kiss against his lips, and then Yahaba moved away again, a grin on his face. 

“ _ All I want for Christmas is you _ .” He dragged out the last word a little longer than necessary, then his voice plunged back into the silence again, his eyes on Shirabu's face. 

Shirabu shifted. Lifted an eyebrow. Cleared his throat. 

“Are you done?”

Yahaba's grin just spread. 

Finding the words he needed in his mind was like finding a white cat in a snowstorm. “You are gravely mistaken if you think this will either warm me up to your terrible Christmas songs or convince me to stay in bed with you.”

Yahaba shrugged, his eyes still oddly bright, and mumbled a “it was worth a try” as he lowered himself back into his pillows and let out an exaggerated sigh of content. 

Shirabu just rolled his eyes. “Someone’s going insane from the Christmas fever.” He slid out of bed and made his way to the bathroom, trying to work around the vines both restricting and breaking open his ribs as Yahaba’s laugher followed him into the hallway.

“Beware, it’s very contagious!” Yahaba called after him. 

Shirabu snorted as he stopped in front of the mirror, trying to manage his bird nest of a bedhead and frowning at the shadows under his eyes that did not leave no matter how much sleep he got. Just barely he caught the sound of Yahaba humming the melody he’d just sung, probably thinking of a million other things to do to him that both delighted him and pissed him off. 

Shirabu couldn’t stop the smile that turned up the corners of his chapped lips. _ You foulbrained moron. You can’t get what you already have _ .

 

~~~~

 

When Shirabu returned from his errands, a few shopping bags in hand, Yahaba was nowhere to be seen. 

The blaring radio, currently spouting the Christmas songs that had been plaguing him for the entire month already, was his only company as he hung his coat on one of the dining room chairs to dry and drifted through the apartment, checking things left and right and dropping or picking things up on the way. 

Once everything was settled, he padded back to their bedroom, the curtains pushed back even further now to allow a better view to the snow that kept on raining down. He dug through the closet, pulling out a dark purple sweater, the warmest he owned -- and the one Yahaba kept snagging from him -- and wrestling it over his head as he went back to the kitchen, grabbing the cup of coffee he’d made himself in between tidying up. 

Settling against the headboard of the bed, Shirabu watched the snow fall until he had dropped every layer of tension, every layer of exhaustion and dread that stuck to his skin like oil, flushing thought after thought down the drain, sip by sip. He only vaguely registered the jingle of keys, the subtle click of the front door and the brush of Yahaba wiping his feet on the doormat before taking off his shoes as he entered the apartment, bringing home the groceries he’d said he would get. 

“Kenjirou?” Yahaba’s voice called.

“In here,” he responded. He made to drink from his cup, still sitting in fingers now growing cold, but only remembered he’d drained it ages ago once he put the rim to his lips. 

Yahaba popped his head through the door, snowflakes melting in his hair and staining the winter coat he still wore. He held up a bag and grinned. 

“I brought Christmas decorations.”

Shirabu raised a brow.

“You know, since you chucked all of them out last year,” Yahaba added.

“Oh, I’m well aware,” Shirabu responded, getting to his feet and walking past Yahaba back to the living room. “But why, pray tell, would we need that when we already have this?”

He swept a hand from left to right, gesturing to the room that held no decorations whatsoever save from the yet-to-be-decorated synthetic Christmas tree mushed into the corner of the room.

Shirabu’s lips twitched as Yahaba pinned him down with a no-nonsense look and pushed the bag of decorations into his arms. “I’ll be having none of that. Either you decorate or no Christmas for you.”

“Oh jolly, no Christmas,” Shirabu mumbled. He drifted to the chair that held his coat and, setting the decorations down on the table behind it, feigned putting it on. “See you tomorrow, Shigeru.”

“Kenjirou!”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

Yahaba just flicked his forehead as he passed by, nudging the decorations in Shirabu’s direction as he shrugged out of his coat and placed it next to Shirabu’s.

While Shirabu usually couldn’t be bothered to decorate an entire room just for one holiday he didn’t particularly care about, Yahaba coaxed him into joining him quite easily after handing him a box of Christmas treats and a mug of hot chocolate coffee to match. After coming home, Yahaba only stalled long enough to dive into their room to emerge in the brightest, ugliest bad Christmas sweater Shirabu’d ever seen, cackling loudly as Shirabu couldn’t help but spit out his hot beverage at the sight.

As the layer of snow outside grew and grew, as the sky started to fade into a murky dark grey, they unpacked Yahaba’s newly acquired treasure, and both took up separate parts of the living room to cover every possible surface with ornaments, lights, and other things Yahaba managed to dig up from fuck-knows-where. Shirabu left the decoration of the Christmas tree to Yahaba, since he was so convinced it was supposed to follow a strict colour palette that Shirabu gave up the idea of trying to argue. Yahaba, the devil he was, just gave him the task of untangling his massive bundle of Christmas lights, the three differently coloured strands so tightly knit together Shirabu almost assumed Yahaba had glued them together just for the fun of it. 

While they were busy, both easy, teasing conversation and music flowed between them -- when Yahaba wasn’t passionately singing along with the Christmas songs. Shirabu, tired of having listened to the same few songs for a month, suggested a change of sound; it only led to a lengthy discussion about whether or not Hallelujah was a Christmas song, a lengthy conversation about Christmas music in general, and Yahaba sweeping him off the couch to waltz him through the room at Pentatonix’ Carol of the Bells, nearly stumbling over still-tangled Christmas lights and scattered ornaments in the process. 

Shirabu had to admit that, like this, decorating wasn’t all that bad. 

When the view outside had left the day behind, Shirabu skipped out of decorating duty to cook dinner and retreated into the open kitchen tucked into one corner of their living room. By the time the kitchen timer signified things were ready to be served, Yahaba had made his way over to Shirabu’s corner of the room, lighting a few candles on the dinner table he’d made a few minutes before.

They’d had dinner like this together for countless times now, yet there was some kind of tension in the air that Shirabu couldn’t entirely identify. He stirred his chopsticks through his food, his stomach knotting together as Yahaba rambled on and on, jumping from topic to topic at lightning speed with an edge to his voice. He decided to just listen silently, his gaze on the cores of the candle flames, the shadows it threw across the table and the way they reflected into Yahaba’s eyes.

The weight of the air on his lungs lessened once it was time to reveal the presents they’d bought for each other. After unceremoniously dumping the dirty dishes into the sink, Shirabu grabbed Yahaba’s hand and led him to the middle of the living room. Yahaba watched him curiously, a question in his eyes that Shirabu was moments away from answering. 

“Welcome,” Shirabu announced in a low voice, “to the Christmas games.”

Yahaba raised his brows in amusement, a smile playing on his lips. 

“In three different places in this apartment, I have hidden a gift, put in bright red wrapping paper,” Shirabu continued. He held up his phone, set to a timer. 

He grinned maliciously as he watched the realization dawn on Yahaba, watched his eyes widen and his hands still in fearful anticipation. 

“You have exactly three minutes to find all three of them, and if you don’t, I will destroy all the gifts, even the ones you did manage to find, by any means necessary.”

Yahaba huffed out a breath. “You don’t mean that,” he said warily.

Shirabu fished out a hammer he’d hidden in the waistband of his jeans in between cleaning up the dinner table and dangled it in front of Yahaba’s face, smiling sweetly. “Are you willing to bet on that?”

Eyes on Yahaba, he tapped the start button of the timer, and Yahaba didn’t hesitate a single second before he hurtled through the living room, ripping pillows from seats and flinging open drawers. He searched frantically, curses on his lips near constantly, a hurricane tearing through a tidy decorated living space. A peppy Christmas song bounced off the walls, oblivious to the ongoing chaos. A breathlessly screamed “I hate you!” as he fled to their bedroom had Shirabu sinking to his knees in shrieking laughter, hands clutching his stomach and tears wriggling down his face. 

This was better than any gift Yahaba could’ve picked for him.

Yahaba’s frustrated yelling drilled through the walls, followed by a cry of victory as he discovered one of the hidden gifts. Shirabu’s reminder that he had only two minutes left made him snarl, and faster rushing and crashing noises ensued, tearing more laughter from Shirabu’s lips. The rushed footsteps moved to the other side of the hallway, telling Shirabu that Yahaba was now searching the cabinets and bins in the bathroom -- to no success, according to the groaning and string of curses. 

At one minute left, Yahaba ran back into the living room, rifling through the kitchen cabinets, the rim of a second present clenched between his teeth. Thirty seconds left, and the wild panic in his eyes was visible from across the room.  His haste made him sloppy, made him knock things over and stumble over his own feet, sending Shirabu into chuckles once again. Twenty seconds left -- Yahaba glared at him across the room. Shirabu returned it with a grin that could set an entire city aflame. 

Ten seconds left.

Five. 

Three--

“I got it!” Yahaba yelled, holding up the last present, jumping up from behind the couch. His cheeks were bright red, his eyes wide, and a smile that was both triumphant and relieved lingered on his panting mouth. A moment later, the timer reached zero, the shrill beeping the only sound in the room save from Yahaba’s heavy breathing. 

Shirabu silenced it and pocketed his phone. 

They locked gazes.

“You really made a mess,” Shirabu observed. 

Yahaba blew out a breath and planted his hands on his hips. “And whose fault was that?”

“The best three minutes of my life, I got to admit.”

“Oh, shut up, you.”

Shirabu shrugged, and made to settle on the couch, brushing aside some scattered leftover tinsel and ornaments. “It’s your turn now.”

Yahaba shook his head, smiled, and got to his feet from where he was kneeling next to a side table. A few seconds later he plopped down on the couch besides Shirabu, a paper shopping bag in hand. 

“Well then,” Yahaba said, burying his hands into the paper bag and drawing out a meticulously wrapped gift. “Let’s begin.”

 

~~~~

 

Yahaba was the first to open up a present. All of Shirabu’s gifts were small, but Yahaba knew size didn’t matter in this case, and knew that Shirabu had chosen them with more care than he put into cleaning the apartment. He picked a square wrapped box first, and opened it to find a mug with a clock printed on it, but all of the numbers were replaced with the words ‘tea time’. 

“How cheesy,” he managed to remark. He bit down on his smile. 

“You spent nine months living with me without having your own mug,” Shirabu offered as explanation. “Now you have one.”

“Good point,” Yahaba agreed, and set the mug on the side table, exactly where he’d found this box, duct taped to the underside of it. “Thank you.”

Shirabu’s smile was subtle, but Yahaba could see the amusement behind it. 

He handed Shirabu one of his gifts, and with a few fluid movements, Shirabu tore the paper away to reveal a deep dark red sweater made with multiple different shades of red thread. Shirabu’s eyebrows flew up. 

“I’ve seen this before.”

“You’ve been eyeing it in the mall every time we went there,” Yahaba said. “Of course I had to buy it for you. Now put it on,” he added. 

Shirabu seemed just as eager as him to see him wear it. It took only a few seconds to switch his old sweater with the new one, and Yahaba could only follow when Shirabu got up and walked to the mirror in the bathroom to inspect the fit.

“I knew it,” Yahaba hummed, wrapping his arms around Shirabu -- and the feather-soft sweater -- from behind. “This shade suits your eyes perfectly.”

He didn’t miss the subtle blush on Shirabu’s cheeks. “I like it a lot, too,” Shirabu murmured. He leaned into Yahaba, and Yahaba just squeezed him before grabbing his hand and pulling back to the living room. 

Shirabu offered Yahaba the second of the three presents to unpack, but Yahaba held up a hand. “Hold on, I want you to unpack this first.”

He sprinted to the front door, and opened it to drag in a huge box he’d left in the hall of the apartment complex. Shirabu’s initial surprise at the box as Yahaba returned and set it down in front of him quickly faded into deadpan annoyance.

“You didn’t.”

“Oh yes, I absolutely did.”

Shirabu frowned down at the box, containing more than half a dozen empty boxes for him to unpack. He just knelt down and shredded the first layer of paper.

“You didn’t think I would just let you get away without getting pranked yourself, did you?”

“I should’ve expected this,” Shirabu sighed. He opened the big box and reached in, pulling out a second box, also neatly wrapped, and grimaced. 

Yahaba just sat down on the couch and watched him suffer through empty box and empty box, watched the boxes grow smaller and smaller and the mountain of discarded wrapping paper grow higher and higher, until only a box tiny enough to fit into the palm of his hand remained. 

Shirabu’s curiosity was reignited as he beheld the small present. With nimble fingers, he gently tugged away the paper.

His entire body stilled as the tips of his fingers touched the velvet surface of the box. He glanced up at Yahaba, and Yahaba silently waved his hand in a gesture to mean,  _ go on _ .

Hesitantly, Shirabu’s hand hovered over the lid. A slow movement had it opening up.

Shirabu’s hands started shaking at the ring imbedded in the silky interior of the box.

“You’re joking,” he breathed, eyes locked onto the simple golden ring, the smooth surface of it reflecting the lights of the Christmas tree, the flames of the candles on the coffee table. 

Yahaba’s heart clenched painfully. With a tentative smile, he slowly shook his head.

He’d ordered the ring made months before, and only a few days ago had he received notice that it was ready to be picked up. He’d made sure to inconspicuously borrow Shirabu’s favourite ring to get the size just right. It was simple, but solid, just as his trust and love for Shirabu, and Shirabu’s trust and love for him.

Part of him itched to take the ring out of the box and slide it onto Shirabu’s smooth, agile fingers.

Shirabu didn’t seem to be breathing. He just stared at the ring in silence, his gaze flitting between Yahaba and the delicate velvet box, opening and closing his mouth without saying a word. 

Then he covered his mouth with his free hand, bent over, and started laughing loudly. 

Ice spread through Yahaba’s veins. 

“What is it? Is something wrong? Did I--”

Shirabu shook his head before Yahaba could finish his worrying, looking up at Yahaba with tears in his eyes. “No-- no, nothing’s wrong,” he choked out in between chuckles. Setting the box in his lap, he reached for one of the presents intended for Yahaba, and ripped off the wrapping without allowing Yahaba an opportunity to protest. 

Yahaba’s own breath halted in his throat as he beheld a very similarly shaped box, sitting in Shirabu’s palm. 

His hands reached for it before he could think about doing so, and opened the lid, finding a just as similar golden ring buried in the middle of a silk bedding. 

One shared glance had both of them losing it. 

Yahaba’s laugher drowned out all of the tension that had built up, all of the dread and worry and sudden relief. Somewhere in between Yahaba started shedding tears despite the laughter, or maybe even because of it, and Shirabu slid his arms around him and buried his face into Yahaba’s shoulder, and Yahaba just revelled in this moment, where no words or gestures were needed, where he required no single confirmation. It was just him, and Shirabu, and the warmth and the light around him, and the laugher that shook them both. It kept him in the here and now and yet swept him far and far away, as though there was no past and no future; just this, and only this, as though this was the one thing he would ever need.

Somewhere in between, Shirabu picked up the box Yahaba had abandoned and gently put the ring around Yahaba’s finger. Somewhere in between, Shirabu allowed Yahaba to do the same.

Somewhere in between the rush of happiness and relief and joy, in between the lights and the snow and the wrapping paper and the Christmas songs, they left the living room behind and settled on the covers of the bed. The rays of the night light on Yahaba’s bedside table made the ring around his finger shine, and as he splayed his fingers across Shirabu’s cheeks and neck and kissed him with everything he had, he knew that what he had sung this very morning was true.

This was the one and only present he would ever need, and the matching ring around Shirabu’s finger was the one thing that told him that it was a present he was allowed to keep for this, and every other Christmas to come. 

“I love you,” Yahaba whispered, diving in for another kiss. And another. There was not enough time, not enough ways to send all he was feeling _ out out out _ . “So much. So much.”

Shirabu broke away, resting his forehead against Yahaba’s, eyes closed, putting a halt to the rush of his head, of his blood. Their breaths mingled, and Yahaba became aware yet again of his surroundings, hearing Shirabu’s rough voice with perfect clarity as he said, “I know.”

Shirabu laughed, then kissed him again. “I know.”

**Author's Note:**

> it's after 2.30 am now so i'm going to sleep and probably regret that i wrote half of this in the past three hours in the morning
> 
> kudos and comments are very much appreciated and you're the mvp if you've gotten this far
> 
> merry crisis folks see y'all next year


End file.
